


but you're not really there

by killu0tine



Category: New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Aromanticism, Character Study, Gen, M/M, One-Sided Attraction, diary format (?), mention of drugs, mention of incest, rantaro pov
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-27
Updated: 2020-12-27
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:34:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28354014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/killu0tine/pseuds/killu0tine
Summary: Amami meets Shinguuji who falls in love with him in spite of himself and everyone he knew.
Relationships: Amami Rantaro & Shinguji Korekiyo
Comments: 2
Kudos: 5





	but you're not really there

**Author's Note:**

> It's been a while, hasn't it... I hope anyone who reads this is doing well. I like many others have gotten into danganronpa during quarantine and I love Shinguuji. He's my favourite character bar Sakura.
> 
> The title is from "Superstar" by Sonic Youth :)

Who is this lovely man who awaits me? I always feel him near me... my tastes for romance never amounted to much but I can't help but notice his aura in particular... it's as though the smell of roses, such a cliche symbol of love, follows me.

I drink tea with him a couple times a week now. Like I said earlier, I'm rather oblivious to displays of affection, but it seems he quite likes me. I'd really rather be his friend, but I don't hold anything against him. There was a glint in his eyes I saw a couple times. Something... darker, and more lustful. An alien feeling arose in me, and I'm still not entirely sure what he truly wants from me. He accompanies me on our drives, after the sun sets. He's kind enough to help me move the boxes despite how skinny he is, and I earn a little extra from it. I'd much rather fade into obscurity than face being an heir to my dad.

I don't know where my dad is, or where my sisters are. I hope he's somewhere off the coast of the Virgin Islands with his body pumped full of coke. And don't get me started on my sisters. 

He is strange indeed. He looped a red rope around my wrist for a split second, told me I was the only person he's ever truly loved, and then his eyes fell. Maybe that was me trying to save face due to the utter absurdity of the situation. He looked as though he said something he shouldn't have said, which wasn't like him at all. He always admitted things to me I definitely don't hear from most people. Things most people accept as wrong without question... he did question. I don't know why he digs himself into weird holes like this. But I want to trust him, with everything in me, and he's so kind to me too.

I don't have to protect anyone... he keeps telling me.  
"What is the line between protection and imprisonment, or isolation from the outside world?" he asked me that one of the nights we had tea, and it's been on my mind ever since.  
There is fear in his eyes, fear of the known. Not of what you don't know, like with most people, but a fear of mundanity. Everything staying the same. Yet he sounds much more deferent than usual. 

It's his sister's birthday this week, more specifically today. His sister died young and sick, without ever getting to see much of the world. She kept him within a relatively tight grasp, yet somehow allowed him to continue his work as an anthropologist. A single tear went down his face, intercepted by his mask. I longed to tell him that it was okay and that I was here for him, but he wouldn't answer to anything. He started crying and crying and I almost got hit by another truck because I was going so fucking slow. I pulled into a highway stop, and he was laid down across the back seat with his head faced away from me. 

I want him to unravel for me, preferably without taking any clothes off in the process.

He always talked about how much he loved his sister, and he told it was a romance, one so beautiful it was disgusting. I blinked my eyes twice, not sure how to grapple with his straightforwardness. He'd certainly hinted there was something more there, but then what was all that about loving me? I asked him, and he looked me in the face, sterner than usual. He looked like his sister. However, I knew that was a superficial charade... an offering to her. A performance to impress someone who no longer exists. Someone who, even close to death, wanted to control him entirely.

So I understood him. All his seemingly vague rants about his hatred of protection as a concept, and paradoxically his desire to protect me, were not necessarily hypocrisy.

No one loves him, no one at all. He is alone in this world. Yet he loves deeper than anyone I've ever known, a reverent love and devotion that should have pushed me away by now. He's the anthropologist, and yet he himself is a fascinating figure.


End file.
